


Three Little Words; or, Five Times Steve and Tony Didn’t Actually Apologize + One Time They Did

by elwenyere



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) - Alternate 2012 Timeline, Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27200845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwenyere/pseuds/elwenyere
Summary: “First of all,” Tony said, “and I need everyone to hear this on multiple levels: how dare you?”In the branching timeline, Thor has to restart Tony's heart, and Steve hears that Bucky is alive. Some things go differently, and some things stay the same. For starters, Steve and Tony are still terrible at saying those three little words.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 63
Kudos: 372





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a 5+1 fic that got ridiculously plotty: like far, far too plotty. But it is finally finished, and the remaining chapters will be posted over the next two days. Thank you all for spending time in this little world with me. I would love to hear what you think!
> 
> Content warnings: non-graphic descriptions of canon-typical violence, including drowning

**1\. Avengers Tower, New York City, 2013**

“First of all,” Tony said, “and I need everyone to hear this on multiple levels: how dare you?”

The effect of this pronouncement was somewhat marred by the fact that it was issued upside-down and almost directly into Steve’s lower back: the position Tony had been occupying since Steve had thrown him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry a few minutes earlier.

Hauling Tony bodily out of his lab hadn’t been Steve’s intention when he’d decided to drop by with some chili left over from the team dinner. It hadn’t even been Steve’s intention when he’d noticed that Tony’s monologuing had increased in pace – from a mile a minute to a brisk, two-minute 5k – even though that was a sure sign that Tony was riding a caffeine bender through serious sleep deprivation. Ever since their fight about the infamous “sentient espresso machine” episode had ended in Clint adding “no yelling during _Top Chef_ ” to the list of Tower rules on the refrigerator, Steve had been making a real effort to stop micro-managing Tony’s coping strategies. And so, despite a worrying number of coffee mugs littered around the room and what looked suspiciously like a muscle twitch developing in Tony’s left cheek, Steve had tried to limit his expressions of concern to one pointed look, which he directed at the spoon that Tony had picked up, not in order to eat the chili, but rather to tap out a drum solo against the side of his desk.

In fact, Steve had just made up his mind to make a tactical retreat from the scene when Tony had jumped up to show Steve a new design for Hawkeye’s body armor and promptly folded like a piece of paper. Steve had barely had time to catch him under the arms before he hit the floor.

“I may be the tiniest bit dehydrated,” Tony had admitted, his head flopping forward onto Steve’s chest.

“Right,” Steve replied.

And that was when he had pulled Tony carefully over his shoulder and marched him out of the lab.

So really, Steve thought, after the near heart attack it had caused him to see Tony pitching toward the ground in a sudden collapse, he was being remarkably level-headed by carrying Tony to the kitchen and not – as had been his first inclination – sprinting him straight to SHIELD medical and demanding a full work-up. He hadn’t yelled for Bruce or interrupted anyone’s enjoyment of cooking-competition shows. He hadn’t verbalized even one of the dozen versions of “Tony, you have to take better care of yourself” that had flashed through his head. All in all, Steve was counting this as progress.

Of course, the sight of Tony hanging over Steve’s shoulder still attracted the attention of their teammates, who were in the process of cleaning up dinner when Steve toted Tony into the kitchen. It was perhaps because of their varying degrees of fussing (Bruce) and catcalling (Clint) that Tony had decided he needed to regain his dignity with a series of declarations, the first of which he finished right before Steve deposited him gently but firmly into a dining-room chair.

“Second,” Tony continued, “you’re all being evicted. Consider this your notice to vacate.”

“Water, Tony,” Steve responded, indicating the glass that Natasha was bringing over.

“And last but not least –”

“You don’t like to be handed things,” Natasha finished for him, pushing the glass across the table instead.

“Okay, new final point: you’re fired. Again,” Tony said. “Ow! Ow! Fine, Romanov. Jesus, you’re a menace.”

He winced, rubbing his leg under the table where Natasha seemed to have found a pressure point. But he did take three long gulps of water from the glass, and Natasha shifted to patting his knee in approval.

"You should get some potassium too,” Bruce said, dropping a banana onto the table and picking up Tony’s wrist to take his pulse. At first it looked like Tony was going to protest against the gesture, but he seemed to think better of it when he saw Steve staring him down from across the table.

“You know, I was managing just fine before this whole band of underemployed, overpowered babysitters moved in,” he said instead.

“Yeah, you were doing so well that you blacked out in your garage after dropping your suit through several stories of your home,” Clint pointed out with a grin. “We’ve all seen the footage.”

“I haven’t,” Steve said, his frown deepening.

“It is very entertaining,” Thor affirmed, clapping a heavy hand on Tony’s shoulder. “I liked it almost as much as the video challenge Barton showed me for the Best Human Flails.”

“That’s best ‘fails,’ Norwegian Road House,” Tony said, “and my test flights weren’t failures. Technically, I made it into the air and back to the ground every time. The icing problem was a one-time thing.”

“Icing problem?” Steve asked, his eyes narrowing.

“I feel like we’re getting off track here,” Tony said quickly. “The point is that I survived, clearly. And a few minor safety incidents didn’t stop me from saving half the Eastern Seaboard while running a multi-billion-dollar corporation.”

“Pepper runs your company,” Natasha retorted.

“So you admit I saved half the Eastern Seaboard,” Tony replied, marking the point with an emphatic wave of the banana.

“What’s the statute of limitations on how long you get to use that to win arguments?” Clint rolled his eyes.

“Hey, I’ll be happy to pass my trump card whenever one of you wants to fly an armed nuclear weapon through a magical portal into space.”

“Do we have to take your insomnia too?” Bruce asked, pushing the waving banana out of his face and back toward Tony. “Because, Tony, you are looking a little worn out.”

“Yeah, well, the last time I took a break, a bunch of fake terrorists showed up to try to kill me, Barton got shot, and Cap took a header from a helicopter. So forgive me if I’m not feeling terribly relaxed,” Tony snipped.

Steve grimaced. He should have suspected this was about Malibu. It had been hard enough convincing Tony to let the SHIELD contingent of the Avengers accompany him to California after the incident with Happy and the threats from the Mandarin. Tony had tried to downplay the danger, but after Thor had let slip that he’d used the hammer to restart Tony’s heart, Steve had been feeling particularly stubborn about the issue. And when Tony’s house had indeed been attacked, Steve had felt so relieved that Tony hadn’t been alone to fend off the assault that he must have missed the signs that Tony was blaming himself for the leg injury Clint had sustained in the fight.

“I get shot all the time, Stark,” Clint said. He kicked his legs up onto the table: a move that Steve suspected was calculated to show Tony how quickly he was healing. “You’re not that special.”

“That’s true,” Natasha confirmed. “We used to have a betting pool at SHIELD about how many field injuries Barton would rack up in a month.”

“I can’t prove this, but I think Nat pushed me off a building once to win $200,” Clint said.

“It was a small building,” she shrugged. “And I needed new boots.”

“So am I disqualified from betting if the first injury of the month happened because you were standing next to me?” Tony asked. His tone was light but sharp, and even though Tony was turning the edge toward himself, Steve felt it like a blade against his sternum.

“It’s part of the job to stand next to each other when the fight starts,” Steve said firmly. “You know that, because you’re the one who knew we’d all show up in New York. You’re the one who invited us all into your home. You made us a team. That means your enemies are our enemies. And if someone comes for you, we’ll be there. Every time.”

The speech had poured out of Steve in a rush of feeling. But now Tony was staring at him with an inscrutable expression on his face, and Steve felt a flush creeping up the back of his neck. That had probably been too much, he thought ruefully, because Tony’s eyes were searching his face, and Natasha was giving him a smirk across the table that looked too knowing by half.

Luckily for Steve, Thor chose that moment to pick up Tony’s water glass and smash it onto the floor with an emphatic, “Here, here!” Steve took advantage of the distraction to jump up and grab the broom.

“Thor, we talked about this, buddy,” Bruce said, a small smile playing on his lips. “On Earth we show our appreciation by rinsing out our glassware and putting it carefully in the dishwasher.”

“My apologies, friends,” Thor replied, still beaming at them as Steve bent to sweep the shards into a dustpan. “I found the Captain’s speech very stirring.”

“He certainly has that effect,” Tony murmured, just loudly enough to make Steve blush even more furiously.

“Okay,” he said, straightening up and gripping the handle of the broom to pull himself together. “Tony, if you eat that banana and drink another glass of water, we will all let you choose the movie for tonight.”

A collective groan went up around the table.

“Cap, please,” Clint begged. “None of us want to see Tony pass out – well, okay, only if it happened in a really hilarious way and he recovered very quickly – but that price is too high. You know he’s just going to make us watch _Robocop_ again.”

“I was going to say that I don’t negotiate with banana pushers,” Tony said, “but now that I know it will annoy Barton, I’m in. JARVIS, order us the finest fruit baskets in the land and cue up _Robocop Returns_.”

“I thought we were all getting evicted,” Natasha pointed out.

“As soon as the movie is over, you pack your bags,” Tony agreed. “Now where’s my ride to the couch?”

He smirked up at Steve with an expression on his face that looked – unfortunately for Tony – like a dare.

“Coming right up, sweetheart,” Steve responded. And then, prompting a renewed round of catcalls from Clint and another cheer from Thor, he scooped a very startled Tony into a bridal carry and whisked him over to the couch.

**2\. Capital Beltway, Washington D.C., 2014**

Tony and Clint got the message from Natasha at noon, were suited up by 12:15, and arrived at the overpass at 12:40: just in time to see Steve take a hit from a rocket launcher and get thrown fifty yards through the air and into a bus. Tony was already swearing viciously, fighting to keep his gauntlet loose where it was clasped around Clint’s waist. But then a man with a metal arm – the Winter Soldier, Natasha had called him – jumped down from the highway and started strafing the bus with gunfire, and Tony saw red.

After depositing Clint onto a nearby roof where he could get into sniping position, Tony dove at the Solider and knocked him backward into a parked car. The Solider retaliated with a flurry of bullets, but Tony twisted into the air, whirling through an evasive maneuver until he could blast the gun out of the Soldier’s hand.

“Nice of you boys to show up,” Natasha called out, and Tony saw two gunmen drop off the overpass as she ducked out from behind a tractor-trailer.

“Would have been even nicer before my car got totaled!” shouted a voice Tony didn’t recognize but assumed must belong to Sam Wilson.

Tony didn’t have time to shoot back a sarcastic reply, because the Winter Soldier was ripping a door off a nearby mini-van. He hurled the sheet of metal at Tony, and Tony veered into a dive, catching a glancing blow off his left arm. He twisted with the momentum and then flew forward, dodging a flurry of punches to his head until he could grab the Soldier’s metal arm in one gauntlet. It was tough work hanging on, and Tony had to grit his teeth against two particularly vicious kicks to his left knee. But after a few moments of grappling, he was able to line up his free hand to deliver a repulsor shot to the Soldier’s chest.

“No!” Steve yelled, and Tony froze instinctively, turning toward the sound of Steve’s voice.

In the split second during which Tony hesitated, the Soldier heaved backward, using his weight and Tony’s grasp on his arm to flip Tony onto his back. Tony made a grab at the Soldier’s face, but the man’s metal fist was already descending toward the arc reactor on Tony’s chest. Tony just managed to close one gauntlet around the edges of the Soldier’s mask before the body looming over him was gone: Steve had launched himself in between them, tackling the Solider to the ground.

“Bucky stop! It’s me!” Steve shouted.

He was struggling to pin down a maskless form that Tony now recognized, impossibly, as James Buchanan Barnes.

Tony barely had time to take in that incomprehensible information before an alert pinged on the suit’s display.

“Sir, there are multiple vehicles converging on this location,” JARVIS said. “They are marked as law enforcement, but I suspect –”

“HYDRA,” Tony cursed, remembering the other part of Natasha’s message. He used the repulsors to push himself off the ground into the air. “Cap, we’ve got to run,” he yelled. “Barton, company’s coming. Do you have eyes on Romanov?”

“That Wilson guy’s with her,” Clint responded over the comms. “I gave her the high sign – she’ll know how to get them off the grid.”

“Roger that. Meet you at the secret lair,” Tony affirmed. He turned to where Steve was still trying to get through to Barnes. Unfortunately, Steve’s pleading seemed to have rather increased than decreased the fury of the Winter Soldier’s attack. Tony winced when Steve took a metal punch to the head and then figured that turnabout was fair play.

“Sorry, Cap, reunion’s over,” he said, blasting forward to scoop Steve over one shoulder and fly them both upward, away from the circle of armored vehicles squealing into place around them. Steve let out one noise of frustration and then went silent, and Tony was almost glad that the armor made it impossible to feel the tension he knew was probably radiating off of him as they flew out of D.C.

By the time they arrived at the location Maria Hill had given them, two bruises had bloomed on Steve’s temple and jaw, and Tony had to fight the urge to reach toward them as he set Steve down on the walkway above the dam. Instead, he retracted his helmet and stepped out of Steve’s space, waiting.

Steve didn’t look at him immediately, turning to grip the railing next to the reservoir and dropping his chin forward toward his chest. His face looked empty in a way that Tony hadn’t seen since their first meeting in Stuttgart: not sad, exactly, but blank, like someone had cut the tendons that held him together. And, just as he had then, Tony felt an overwhelming urge to poke and needle until some other expression – any other expression – took the place of the desolation behind that seventy-year stare.

“So were you even going to call us in if Romanov hadn’t tipped us off?” Tony asked. “You remember you’re an Avenger, right? Fought off a hoard of genocidal aliens together…share a coffee maker in the mornings…ringing any bells? You were in trouble – you jumped out of an elevator and then got caught in an _exploding bunker_ – and you went to this Wilson guy you just met?”

“I didn’t know what we were dealing with yet,” Steve replied guardedly, still not meeting Tony’s eyes.

“You knew who he was before I even grabbed the mask,” Tony pointed out. “You stopped me from shooting him.”

Steve winced.

“I didn’t know for sure until today,” he explained. “Loki told me Bucky was alive – back in New York, when he was impersonating me after the battle. I didn’t tell anyone at the time, because it took me a while to even remember what Loki had said. Getting hit with the staff made the whole thing feel like a dream. And then I wasn’t sure whether it was true or whether he was just manipulating me. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. But when I saw the Winter Soldier outside my apartment, he caught my shield, and I was almost positive I recognized his eyes.”

Tony felt something twist in his stomach, and he wound it into an angry knot before it could start pinching at his insides.

“So my enemies are your enemies, but your brainwashed ex-lovers you get to keep to yourself?” he quipped acidly.

“Bucky’s not my –” Steve clenched his jaw, and Tony could practically hear his teeth grinding. “What happened to Bucky is my problem.”

“Just like what happened to Killian was mine, but I don’t seem to remember you being eager to sit that one out,” Tony retorted.

“That was different, Tony,” Steve shook his head. “You weren’t responsible for Killian. But Bucky – I left him. I got him into a fight, and I didn’t get him out of it. I can’t do that again.”

The sour feeling was still roiling in Tony’s gut, and he couldn’t shake the image of Steve crashing through metal, taking punches, hardly even trying to protect himself.

“He tried to kill you,” Tony said, and it came out sounding harsh and flat. “He doesn’t know you.”

“He will,” Steve replied simply, and in that moment his expression was clear and unworried.

Tony shut his eyes. The knot in his stomach had disintegrated into what felt like a swarm of needles, and Tony allowed himself a moment to acknowledge what it must mean that hearing Steve say those words could sting so badly.

“Well, you’re not facing him alone,” Tony said finally, keeping his own voice even through herculean effort. “You want to get your face punched in some more by Soviet-edition Bourne Identity, fine, but you’re taking me with you.”

Steve’s mouth twisted.

“Tony, I almost got you hurt today. When I called out to you –”

“We need a better plan, I agree,” Tony broke in. “But from what I hear, you’re the just the star-spangled man to see about getting one of those.”

That earned him an eye roll, and Tony wondered how fondness could feel like someone was sewing your insides together with hot wire.

“We’ll figure it out, Cap,” he continued. “And if we can bring him in, we’ll bring him in.”

Steve gave him a long stare, an expression flitting across his face that Tony couldn’t quite track.

“Tony,” he said finally, and his voice sounded suddenly horrible, “there’s something else about Bucky.” He choked, swallowed, and started again, “I just realized, and I didn’t want to – I still don’t know for sure, but I –”

“It’s okay, Steve,” Tony said, trying for a smile as he clapped a gauntleted hand carefully on Steve’s shoulder.

He knew he should probably let Steve finish. Steve had never officially come out to him – maybe he hadn’t told anyone how he felt about Bucky at all – and it looked like it was taking him an immense effort to get the confession out. But Tony didn’t think he could stand to hear the truth confirmed just now, not when he was still reeling from the recognition of his own feelings on the matter.

“I get it,” Tony said instead. “Don’t worry. You’re going to get him back.”

Steve paused for a moment, his jaw still clenching like he was working over something painful in his throat. Then he reached up and squeezed the gauntlet on his shoulder, his grip strong enough for Tony to feel it through the metal.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**3\. Barton Safe House, Location Classified, 2015**

The fourth time Tony tugged the blanket away from Steve’s feet, Steve finally let out a sigh.

“I see we’ve moved on to the non-verbal phase of the judgment process,” Tony muttered.

He rolled over on the double bed that Laura Barton had set up for them, his face turned toward the ceiling so Steve could see his profile faintly silhouetted against the moonlight from the window. It had been hours now since their argument in the yard, and since then they’d been treating each other carefully. But Steve could see the lines of stress still pinching Tony’s features.

His first impulse was to clasp Tony’s arm: a gesture Steve had performed a hundred times when he needed to show Tony that he was on his side. Somehow that had always seemed like a simpler way of saying it – like a language they could share precisely because they didn’t remember how or when they’d learned it – and Steve felt like if he could just make contact, Tony would know: he wasn’t angry that Tony hadn’t told him what he was up to. He was scared. Steve remembered the fear that had led him to keep the fights with HYDRA to himself, and he was worried Tony was keeping something from him for the same reason.

But they were already so close together, their knees almost knocking against each other each time they shifted. If he touched Tony now, with the gash from Tony’s fight with the Hulk still sharp and angry on his cheek, Steve knew he would risk communicating far more feelings than just reassurance.

“Glad to know you’re still discovering new reasons to be disappointed in me,” Tony continued, interrupting Steve’s thoughts. “Even after all the years you’ve known me, it’s good to know that I can still find new ways to let you down.”

“Yeah, Tony, it’s a real surprise to learn that you’re a twitchy sleeper,” Steve said dryly. “I never would have guessed. You’re otherwise so restrained.”

“Oh good, it’s not just going to be non-verbal.”

“When is it ever with you?”

“Bullying. This is unprovoked bullying, Rogers, and I am going to march right downstairs and report you to Fury for creating a hostile workplace environment.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’ve got a bit of a melodramatic streak?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t you rip a log in half with your bare hands earlier today?”

“Touché.”

Steve was smiling now, feeling his shoulders relax as Tony’s expression loosened. Maybe Tony heard the smile in his voice, because he gave a theatrical sigh and flopped toward Steve, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at Steve’s face.

“So I know we’ve all been a little bit distracted by the fact that I created a rampaging murder bot, but…do you think something’s going on with Bruce and Nat?” he asked.

“You’re just picking that up now?” Steve smirked. “I thought you were supposed to be a genius.”

“God, someone put on his sassy pants today,” Tony grinned. “When did you notice?”

“I’ve been wondering for a while,” Steve said. “Bruce almost Hulked out on me when I told him I led Nat into a booby-trapped HYDRA bunker. And I’m pretty sure I saw them holding hands when we dragged him onto that roller coaster.”

“The time we went to Six Flags?” Tony asked.

“And Clint broke the claw machine trying to win that Hawkeye plushie,” Steve confirmed.

“No kidding,” Tony shook his head. “And here I thought Brucie was just on a sugar high from all the funnel cakes Thor kept buying.”

“You should have seen him getting a drink from Nat at your party,” Steve chuckled. “She was pulling out all the stops. He looked like he’d been hit by a bus.”

“Understandable,” Tony nodded. “The first time I met her I forgot my own name for a minute, and I’m pretty sure she was only using her powers at half strength. Well, I hope those two crazy kids figure it out. They deserve something good.”

“Speaking of which, where was Pepper that night?” Steve asked. Tony’s face tightened slightly.

“In Malibu, I assume. That’s where she usually is these days. We broke up a while ago. It’s okay, Cap.” Tony added the last part quickly, clearly sensing some of the guilty pressure building in Steve’s chest. “It was bound to happen eventually. I’ll always love Pep like crazy, and she’s saved my life in more ways than one. But I think she always hoped I would walk away from this some day. I was never going to be able to give her what she wanted.”

Tony didn’t quite look at Steve as he finished, his eyes flitting around to the shadowy baseball posters and pennants tacked up around the room, and a horrible thought crept into Steve’s head.

“Tony,” he said, “was it because of what happened on the helicarriers?”

The memory of that fight had joined the list of visions that Steve tried to beat out of his brain by pounding them through punching bags: the image of Bucky shoving Tony’s face plate to the side, wrenching at the casing of the arc reactor with his metal fist. Steve had been able to get the chip in place in time to pull them apart, but not before the connection between the reactor and the suit had been damaged. Tony had been helpless when the carrier started to go down, and Steve’s heart rate jumped every time he remembered his mad scramble to get Tony out of the suit or his struggle to shield Tony’s body with his as they hit the water.

By the time they got to the banks, Bucky had been long gone, and Tony had been regarding Steve with an expression that reminded him of the night he’d dragged Tony up from the lab: a look that was both searching and guarded at once. Steve had seen that same look so often in the following weeks that he started wondering whether he’d given too much away. He knew how desperate he’d felt when he called Tony’s name, or as he tried to cradle Tony’s head with his arms – he could only imagine what he’d looked like from the outside. But he was so worried about protecting his own secret that he’d never thought to connect Tony’s wary expression with the decrease in Pepper’s appearances at the Tower.

“We didn’t break up because of what happened in the fight, exactly,” Tony replied after a pause, a small, rueful smile tugging at his mouth, “but when I got Natasha’s message and flew to D.C. – I think that was when Pepper realized why I was having so much trouble walking away.”

He finally looked Steve in the eyes, and Steve felt something in his stomach flutter at the softness in his gaze. He could feel the feather-light presence of Tony’s fingers next to his upper arm, the slight brush of Tony’s breath against his cheek. Could it be possible Steve hadn’t been the only one feeling the constant pull to close that distance? If he reached out now…

“Tony,” he said, his voice thick, “I have to tell you something.”

Tony’s smile widened cautiously, and Steve would have felt like someone had knifed him, except that he knew he was the one holding the blade.

“Oh yeah, solider? What’s that?” Tony asked, his voice teasing, and God, Steve wanted to say anything other than the words he had planned. _“You said we could end the team and go home,”_ he could say instead, _“but I don’t even know what home looks like without the team.”_ _“I’d really like to kiss you,”_ he wanted to say – or its companion, _“I think I’ve loved you for years.”_

But he knew he couldn’t say any of those things and mean them if he didn’t say this first.

“In 1991, HYDRA planned an assassination mission for an operative named the Winter Soldier,” Steve began.

He watched Tony’s face go from confused to hurt to angry as he spoke, all the gentleness disappearing from his features.

By the time Steve finished, Tony was gone. 

**4\. Avengers Compound, Upstate New York, 2016**

When Tony showed up at the compound after the mission in Lagos, it was the first time he had seen Steve since the battle with Ultron. In fact, the two of them had barely spoken since the night at Barton’s, when Tony had finally gotten up the courage to make a pass at Steve, and Steve had revealed he’d been sitting on the news that Barnes killed Tony’s parents for almost a year. Other than a second round of yelling at each other about Tony’s decision to animate Vision and a professional attempt at battlefield communication during the fighting in Sokovia, Tony had kept his mouth shut, and Steve had kept his distance. As soon as they’d verified that all of Ultron’s bodies had been wiped out, Tony had flown to Malibu and asked Pepper to pack his schedule with work trips so he would have no reason to be in New York while the Avengers moved out of the Tower and into the new upstate training facility.

For a few months after the move, Natasha had texted him about missions or about the training sessions with the junior Avengers. But Tony had found reasons to put her off.

“You’ve got Rhodey on loan from the Air Force and weekly shipments of my tech,” he finally told her over the phone. “Those are my better halves anyway. Now when are you coming to the city? I picked up a vodka in St. Petersburg that’s going to make your graceful, murderous little toes curl.”

So Natasha had come to New York City for the weekend, taken him out dancing, and drunk him under the table. And that was the last time that anyone who wasn’t a combative journalist had talked to him about the Avengers.

The last time, that was, until yesterday, when he had gotten word that a mission in Lagos had ended with Steve jumping shield-first onto an exploding Brock Rumlow. That night Tony had woken up in a cold sweat, having dreamed once again of watching the light go out of a pair of brilliant blue eyes, and he had been on the road headed out of the city before the sun rose.

Now that he had arrived at the compound, however, the whole “take a breezy, fourteen-hour trip to double check that Steve’s face was not actually pale with blood loss” plan was feeling the tiniest bit ill-advised. Tony hadn’t been to the facility at all since the team had moved in, and he knew the timing of this particular visit was going to attract attention. He had another excuse for being there, but even that excuse relied on sharing news that he’d very much not wanted to communicate in person. He sat in his car outside the entrance to the residence, drumming his fingers rapidly against the steering wheel and considering the possibility of turning around. He could be back in the city by midnight, and if he was lucky, no one would even know he had come.

“Hello, Stark,” Wanda said, and Tony choked off a curse. She was just over a foot away, placidly sipping from a mug of tea and occupying a spot that Tony was very sure had been empty a second earlier.

“Sabrina the Teenage Witch,” Tony greeted her. “Still sneaking up on people to scare the shit out of them I see.”

They both knew what he meant, of course – in the same way that Tony would always hear an echo of her brother’s voice in the way she said his last name. For a moment Tony wanted to ask her, “when you saw what I saw, did you know it would make me do this too? Did you know I’d have to get in a car every time he got hurt?” But her being there to greet him seemed like its own kind of answer to that question.

“I use my powers for good now,” Wanda said with a wry smile, “like for checking up on the strange men who are lurking in our driveway.”

“Technically, this is my driveway,” Tony responded, stepping out of the car and following her into the sprawling first-floor common area. “I think the guy who financed the building retains a lifetime right to lurk anywhere on the premises.”

“That must give you a lot of lurking grounds,” Wanda observed.

She sat down at one of the plush red couches and took another sip of her tea as Tony hovered by the coffee table, scanning the lounge furnishings that Pepper had chosen. At the time, she’d thought Tony would be living part-time at the facility as well, which might have been why she had decorated the residence in the same style as Avengers Tower. Tony brushed at the leaf of a flourishing philodendron and tried not to wonder who was watering the plants now that Bruce was M.I.A.

“Access to lurking is one of the many perks of my position,” Tony said finally. “Not taking advantage of it would just be wasteful.”

“Is that Stark?” Sam’s voice called.

He walked in from the hallway that led to the gym, wiping a towel across his forehead before draping it over his shoulders. Natasha was close behind, dressed for exercise but looking decidedly less winded than Sam. She gave Tony’s shoulder a squeeze and then curled into a nearby chair as Sam perched on the back of Wanda’s couch.

“It’s about time, man,” Sam said, giving Tony a steady look. “It takes an explosion to get you to talk to him again?”

“Hey, Wilson,” Tony replied. “I don’t remember asking your opinion about…anything at all really.”

“Play nice, boys,” Natasha admonished with a small smile. “Sam’s just tired of Steve moping around all the time.”

“We all are,” Wanda added. “If Clint had told me being an Avenger would involve watching so much sad _Robocop_ , I would still be hiding in that house in Novi Grad.”

“How is he?” Tony asked, in what he thought was an admirably casual tone under the circumstances. “Other than toasted like a very chiseled marshmallow?”

“He’s already healed well enough to embarrass me on the mats,” Sam winced, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, it’s you, Wilson, so that could mean anything,” Tony pointed out. “Steve could pin you while leaking spinal fluid out of both his ears.”

“Did I say it was about time you came?” Sam muttered. “I take it back. Another month of Steve’s depression beard would be better than this.”

“He’ll be fine, Tony,” Natasha assured him.

“How did it even happen?” Tony asked. Irritation had leaked into his voice, but Natasha knew him well enough to know where it was really directed.

“Rumlow got cornered and tried to distract Steve by taunting him about Barnes,” she said. “But Steve went right for the bomb. He caught the brunt of the blast with his shield, and Wanda helped contain the rest. The burns were bad at first, but he’s healing.”

Her voice was light, but she held Tony’s eyes the whole time. And if Tony had still been entertaining any doubts about whether she’d figured out what happened between him and Steve, they were gone now.

“Well, I brought him a new uniform,” Tony said. “Extra flame-retardant to accommodate his habit of recreational grenade-jumping. Got some goodies for the rest of you too. Thrusters that don’t bank like a 747 for Wilson and that dark chocolate with the chili peppers for Wanda.”

“I get my tech dragged and she gets chocolate?” Sam asked.

“I can move things with my mind,” Wanda explained serenely.

“Ah, Mr. Stark,” Vision greeted him, breezing into the room through the wall to the gym, “you are here to check on Captain Rogers, I presume.”

“I am not –” Tony gritted his teeth briefly, as Sam and Natasha traded looks and Wanda smirked. “I’m here on business.”

“Everything okay?”

This time, it was finally Steve. Just hearing the voice was like catching his fingers in an electrical circuit, but Tony risked a glance in Steve’s direction, eyes moving rapidly across the new, thick beard that looked slightly singed around the edges; the taut, discolored patches of skin on Steve’s forehead and arms where the burns were still healing; the spot near his upper lip where blood always trickled from Steve’s nose in Tony’s nightmares.

Tony looked back at Natasha before responding.

“Just peachy, Cap,” he said. “I’ve got great news for you.”

Steve was still hovering in the hallway, his stance turned halfway toward Tony and half back toward the gym. Tony suppressed the urge to check the expression in his face again and continued addressing his communication to the rest of the group.

“I have a solid lead on Barnes. FRIDAY picked out his biometric scans from some surveillance feeds in Bucharest. I can have you on the jet to Romania as soon as you’re ready.”

“Third-party feeds?” Natasha asked, and of course she would zero in on the one thing Tony had hoped to breeze by. “Who else is looking?”

“I’m taking care of it,” Tony waved his hand. “It’s just some private citizen with a grudge.”

“A grudge against the Winter Soldier?” Sam asked.

“Not exactly,” Tony hedged. “Let’s say it seems like someone was hoping to use him, but things didn’t go according to plan. Like I said, it’s being handled.”

“Tony,” Steve said, and Tony could feel the pressure of his gaze building on the back of his neck, “what do you mean ‘handled’?”

“I mean I’m handling it, Steve!” Tony snapped.

He turned to return Steve’s glare, but found that Steve’s face was pinched with worry instead, the furrow between his eyebrows pulling at the burnt skin on his forehead. It was so like the expression that Tony had seen on Steve’s face after Steve had carried him to the kitchen – the same expression that had made Tony wonder for the first time whether Steve had more-than-friendly feelings for him. Seeing it now made Tony’s throat feel raw, like he’d been gasping for air for hours. He tried to pass off the scratch of want as mere irritation.

“I don’t owe you mission reports, remember?” he continued, and he had the satisfaction of watching a twist of annoyance at the corner of Steve’s mouth.

“Well excuse me for being concerned,” Steve retorted, his stance shifting as he leaned toward Tony. “We don’t hear from you in months, and then you drop this in our laps with no explanation? How am I supposed to react?”

“I gotta say, Rogers, I would have thought the situation would feel more familiar,” Tony fired back, “because speaking of people who withheld information until they could blindside someone with their guard down –”

“Jesus, Tony, that’s not why I brought it up then! What kind of an asshole do you think –”

Natasha cleared her throat loudly, and Tony almost jumped. Steve blinked back at him, looking as disoriented as Tony felt. Judging by her smirk, Natasha seemed to have noticed their reactions.

“As much as I’m enjoying live-texting this reunion to Clint,” she said, “he says ‘get a room,’ by the way – do you think we could return to the security threat for a moment? You said someone was planning to use Barnes. Use him against whom?”

“I think the other interested party leaked me the footage on purpose,” Tony admitted, and Natasha quirked an eyebrow. “I dig some digging, and it turns out he’s from Sokovia. His name is Zemo, and he lost some family when my homicidal bot-child dropped a city on them. The report on the incident had been recently published – planted, really. Zemo wanted me to find out. That’s how I realized he was leaving me a trail: he clearly wants a showdown of some kind.”

“How do you know it’s just you he’s after?” Wanda asked. “You weren’t the only one who helped Ultron come to be.”

Tony hesitated. This was the part he’d _really_ hoped to leave out, and it would have been so much easier to hide over email or the phone. But now Steve was staring at him earnestly, the furrow back between his brows, and Tony’s anger wasn’t so righteous that he couldn’t recognize he was about to pull the same move they’d both been trying on each other for years. Playing things close to the vest wasn’t doing a great job of keeping anyone safer.

“I know it’s me he’s after,” Tony said finally, “because he sent me a letter with a set of coordinates, a date and time, and a photograph of Barnes being watched through the scope of a rifle.”

A spasm moved across Steve’s face, and Sam let out a low whistle.

“It’s a trap then,” Natasha murmured.

“And he’s going to catch more than he bargained for,” Tony replied. “Cap, you can take the team and go get Barnes out of Bucharest. I’ll meet Zemo and politely remind him that this isn’t my first revenge rodeo.”

“No,” Steve said, and Tony bristled.

“Look, this isn’t really your call, okay –”

“No, I mean we should split up in a way he won’t expect,” Steve continued. “He could have picked anyone close to you to threaten – Rhodey, Pepper, Happy – but he picked Bucky. That means he wants the two of us to go separate ways. We don’t know what he has planned, but we’ll give ourselves back an edge if we don’t take that bait.”

“Steve’s right, Tony,” Natasha nodded. “It makes sense to avoid playing by his rules when we can. Clint and I should go with you too: we’ve walked into more traps than the rest of you combined. Also Clint could use the exercise. His reflexes are slowing down in the countryside, and it’s really throwing off the field-injury betting pool.”

“I can get to Barnes to make sure Zemo’s people don’t try anything,” Sam said. “I might have an easier time convincing him to come in than someone he knows anyway. Every time he sees Steve, the likelihood of someone’s car ending up as scrap metal seems to go up at least 200% – no offense, Cap.”

“None taken,” Steve said with a small smile.

“Wanda and I can go along,” Vision said.

“For extra protection,” Wanda clarified, catching a momentary flicker on Steve’s face. “No mind control.”

“Thank you,” Steve said softly, his gaze traveling across each member of the team before he turned back to Tony. “So what do you think?”

Steve folded his arms across his chest and hunched his shoulders – a posture that suddenly reminded Tony of the first time Steve had tried to program the TIVO at the Tower, when he had only ended up catching half of the documentary on the Apollo missions that Tony had said he wanted to watch.

Tony realized he was staring, his mind struggling to catch up.

“You think you should come with me,” Tony repeated slowly.

Steve’s arms flexed, and he shifted his weight between his feet.

“Yes,” he said. “I think that’s the best tactical plan.”

“Extremely tactical,” Sam nodded, his face deadpan. Natasha was back to texting furiously, and Wanda seemed to be hiding her face behind her mug of tea. Vision looked as sedate as ever, but Tony noticed that his lips curled up slightly at whatever expression Wanda was trying to cover.

“Okay,” Tony said at last. “We’ll do it together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and sharing the world of this fic! I can't tell you how much warmth it's brought me, and I hope you're finding a little bit too. I'd love to hear what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**5\. B3 Oil Field, Baltic Sea, 2016**

On the bright side, they had been right to think that Zemo wouldn’t expect Tony to have company. Soon after the Quinjet landed on the remote oilrig where Zemo’s coordinates had led them, the team had been greeted by a soft voice over an intercom congratulating them on their curve ball.

“I admit I had anticipated Stark would come alone,” Zemo’s voice had announced, as Steve, Tony, Clint, and Natasha made their way below deck. “The best way to destroy a team is from within. Isn’t that right, Captain Rogers? It starts with something small: a secret, kept from someone who trusted you, causes a rift, and then when the threat comes, you are not where you needed to be. This is what I imagined, anyway. If the mercenaries tracking the Winter Soldier had ended up killing Captain America in Romania, or – what was more likely – if I had taken Iron Man and returned him to you in pieces – either way it would have destroyed whoever survived.”

“What was more likely, my ass,” Tony had grumbled, earning a pat on the shoulder and a “you tell him, man,” from Clint.

“Now I will have to move on to plan B,” Zemo had continued. “I hope you will still find it up to your standards.”

On what Clint called the “soggy side of the shit burger,” plan B was definitely still up to their standards. They’d had no problems dispatching the few hired thugs they’d found patrolling the rig: the men in question seemed so ill-prepared for any kind of skilled combat that Steve felt sure they couldn’t be intended for much more than a sacrificial stalling technique. But the rig itself was another story. Twenty minutes into the mission, the team had already been forced to ditch their comms and Tony’s suit (thanks to a specialized EMP that had been coded to the sound of Tony’s voice), change course several times (due to sudden eruptions of some kind of purple gas), and split up (courtesy of a series of metal doors that slid down from the ceiling and locked into place whenever something triggered the accompanying control panel). And that wasn’t even counting the large explosive device buried somewhere in the lower levels, which FRIDAY had detected shortly before Tony’s suit had gone offline.

“This is, without a doubt, the most Scooby-Doo way that anyone has ever tried to kidnap me,” Tony said.

He had just caught up to the fork in the corridor where Steve had stopped, and Steve divided his attention between checking each direction for signs of Clint, Natasha, or Zemo and checking the rate of Tony’s breathing. They’d gotten caught by a wall of gas on the floor below, and based on the tightness in Steve’s own chest, he had to believe that Tony was feeling the effects more heavily than he was showing.

“I’m serious,” Tony continued, having taken a pause that could have been for dramatic effect if his chest weren’t also rising an extra half inch with each breath. “Personalized booby traps and control panels with nothing but a ‘close’ button? This guy missed an incredible career designing carnival fun houses…or like, user interfaces for tax-filing software.”

The adrenaline of the mission seemed to have loosened the communication between them, and Steve was trying not to feel too guilty about soaking in the sound of Tony’s color commentary. It was only when Tony had stopped speaking to him that Steve had realized how much he had grown accustomed to the flow of Tony’s talk. One night at the compound, when Steve had finally given up on sleep and decided to make himself some eggs in the kitchen, Tony’s voice had come over the television. CNN was playing footage from a press conference in Zurich; and as Tony described a new self-sustaining generator, Steve felt his jaw unclench, as if the sound of Tony’s voice could send some signal to Steve’s body that his mind couldn’t accept.

Steve had taken the eggs off the burner, curled up on the couch, and been asleep ten minutes later.

“I think maybe we should try to head back up to the surface,” Steve said, trying to avoid any hint that the suggestion was driven by anxiety over Tony’s heart rate. “Nat and Clint may have already found Zemo. Hell, he might not even be here, for all we know.”

“Sounds good to me,” Tony nodded. “I can grab one of the sixty-four weapons Natasha travels with and we can regroup. Which way do you think it is?”

Steve paused for a moment, consulting his mental map and sniffing the air.

“That way,” he gestured down the hall to their right.

Tony started off in the direction Steve had indicated, but Steve found himself hesitating at the fork, glancing back behind him at the way they had come. Something seemed off. Zemo had obviously gone to elaborate lengths to weaponize the rig, but now he didn’t even seem to trying that hard to hurt or capture them. The gas wasn’t fast-acting enough to incapacitate them, and the doors had never shut in a way that would trap them all in one place where they could be picked off.

It was almost as if they were being herded rather than hunted.

Just as Steve was formulating that thought, two things happened at once: Tony walked through another of the metal doorways, and a deafening noise erupted through the hall. Steve reached out to steady himself on the wall as shockwaves rumbled through the floor beneath them. Zemo must have blown the explosive. A second rush of sound followed: a dull roar of flooding water that was coming far too fast.

So that was why Zemo had been herding them.

Steve looked over at Tony, and he had just enough time to watch the realization dawn in Tony’s eyes before he had to move.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” he said softly.

“No!” Tony yelled. He was lurching forward, but Steve had already tossed his shield into the air. It collided with the control panel, and the door between them slammed into place.

“Goddamn it, Steve!” Tony shouted from the other side. Steve could still see a square of his face and torso through a plate glass panel in the upper half of the door: enough of a view to know that Tony’s hands were probing frantically for a catch or a handhold.

“It’s okay,” Steve said.

“Don’t you dare ‘okay’ me, you bastard,” Tony growled, dropping out of sight in what Steve assumed was an effort to gain leverage at the bottom of the door. “We are not doing that right now.”

“Tony, you’ve got to get to the surface and find Clint and Nat.”

The water was already rushing in around his calves.

“Fuck that, Steve,” Tony snapped, popping back into view to slam one fist against the door. “I am not leaving you: do you hear me? I will stay right here, and the water will get through eventually, and then we’ll both drown, so you might as well use your stupid, miracle-of-modern-science muscles to open this goddamn door so I can get your stubborn ass out of here.”

“Tony?” Natasha’s voice echoed down the hall, and Tony whipped his head around to watch her run into view.

“Nat! This fucking idiot locked himself in, and the place is going to flood,” Tony explained rapidly. “Help me get the door open.”

“The water’s coming in too fast, Nat,” Steve said calmly. It was up to his thighs now, and he could feel the pins and needles starting to stab up his legs. “If you open the door, it’s going to capsize the whole rig. I need to you and Clint to get Tony out of here.”

“Steve,” Natasha said, her face utterly still.

“You know I’m right,” Steve replied. “Zemo has been moving us in this direction.”

“Then fight it, you asshole!” Tony exploded. “You don’t get to make this call. Not after everything – you don’t get to ask me to watch you die, Steve. I can’t do it.”

Steve felt like someone had dropped hot coals into his chest. He wanted to lie – to tell Tony he would be fine, take some force out of the fear that was pinching at Tony’s features. It _might_ be true: once Tony and Nat were clear, Steve could work on getting out, and maybe he could survive long enough to free himself from the sinking rig. Steve didn’t actually know what it would take to stop his heart, after all; and he had never been sure whether he would have drowned the first time if not for the ice.

But he couldn’t bring himself to offer Tony a hope that might be false. He’d learned the hard way that trying to spare someone pain in the present could make it hurt even more later.

“I would do a lot of things differently, Tony, but not this,” Steve said instead. “I would make this choice every time. Now please, go. I told you if someone came for you, we would be there. Let me keep my word this time.”

Tony’s face crumpled for a moment, something raw and horrible twisting at his features, and then he was hammering at the plate glass with renewed fury, cursing eloquently as he tried to create a crack for some of the water circling Steve’s shoulders to escape.

Steve was rocked by a wave of devotion so fierce that for a moment he forgot the icy needles slicing at his torso. Of course Tony wasn’t going to make this easy: he had never accepted a no-win scenario in his life. And Steve loved the fight in him like it was the last warmth in the world.

“Nat, please,” Steve said, just loud enough for her to hear.

A moment later, Steve saw Tony collapse sideways into her arms. Natasha retrieved the needle from his neck and gripped his wrist and thigh to pull him over her shoulders. She hefted his weight carefully, and then looked up at Steve through the water rising against the window.

“He’s never going to forgive me for this,” she told him. “I’m not sure I’m going to forgive myself.”

“Get him out of here and you’ll have saved us both,” Steve promised. “Go.”

She paused a moment more, murmuring something in Russian, and then she turned to carry Tony toward the exit.

Steve only looked away when he could no longer make out their retreating forms. He was treading water now as the hallway continued to flood. He supposed his best bet was to swim toward the lower levels and try to find the site of the blast. If it was on the near side of the rig, there might be a chance he could make it to the surface.

He had just ducked under water to retrieve his shield when he felt a second explosion rock through the walls, this time from above. Suddenly the orientation of the corridor was shifting, as if the whole rig had started to tilt to one side, and Steve felt his heart seize in panic.

Had that come from the direction Natasha and Tony were headed?

Steve ducked under the water to peer through the window on the door, and now he could see water rushing in from the other side as well. Natasha would have been moving slower with Tony’s weight to carry. If they hadn’t made it to the deck before the second explosion…

Any trace of stoicism was burned off in a surge of adrenaline, and suddenly Steve needed to get out immediately.

He took a deep breath of the remaining pocket of air and then swam down to the bottom of the door, wedging the edge of the shield in the small gap where it met the floor. Bracing himself against the frame, he kicked down at the shield with as much force as he could. It was hard to get momentum under water, but the shield jolted enough to raise the door an inch. Steve knew it would get easier as water filled the corridor on the other side, so he watched through the window, staying as still as possible to conserve oxygen.

When the water on the other side was almost to the ceiling, he kicked the shield again, and this time the door moved enough that Steve could grab hold of the bottom. He settled his feet against the floor and heaved upward. It was agonizingly slow, and Steve could feel his lungs burning from the exertion, but finally he raised the door to the level of his torso. He kicked the shield through with one foot and then swung himself after it as quickly as he could. He managed to make it almost fully across the threshold before the door’s weight slammed down again, catching him on the left shoulder and forcing out a gasp of pain that wasted more precious air.

Steve blinked against the edges starting to crowd his vision. Snapping the shield onto his back, he started swimming in the direction that Tony and Natasha had taken. The rig still seemed to be listing to one side, and Steve had to keep adjusting his stroke as he made his way down the corridor, around a corner, and then toward the stairs that Steve hoped still led to the landing pad.

He was almost to the first steps when he heard a muffled crack. The wall next to him buckled, and he had to dart quickly to the side to avoid the collapsing metal. His lungs screamed in protest, but he gripped the railing of the stairwell and hauled himself forward, kicking steadily as he made his way up.

The urge to gulp for air was becoming desperate, and Steve felt one hand jerk involuntarily toward his throat as he swam. The pressure in his chest was almost the only sensation he could feel now, and he remembered how his limbs had gradually gone dead as he lay pinned against the deck of the Valkyrie, the metal and water squeezing his torso until he screamed and a glacier flowed into his lungs.

 _Then fight it, you asshole!_ something yelled back in his head, and he wanted to: God, he wanted to. From somewhere ahead of him he heard a distorted noise, which could have been a yell or another collapsing wall. His legs thrashed out toward it, his right hand clawing at the rail, and then everything went dark.

**+1. U.S. Military Field Hospital, Bydgoszcz, Poland, 2016**

Tony woke up to the feeling of a hand brushing softly across his forehead. It took a moment to register the shape of the fingers – and for some part of his brain to notice that they didn’t fit with the scenes his memory was conjuring – before he was shooting upward in a jolt of fear.

“Steve!” he yelled, scrabbling frantically at the hands that Natasha was now using to shove him firmly back in bed.

“Tony, calm down,” she told him, but there was no chance in hell of that, because the last thing he remembered was Steve’s face through plate glass, his head tilted slightly upward as the water rose around his neck.

“Where the fuck is he?” Tony demanded, twisting in Natasha’s grip and searching frantically around the hospital room where he now found himself. Clint was rising from a seat by the door and coming over to help Natasha keep Tony in bed. Rhodey was rushing over with a cup of water. But there was no Steve.

“Oh my god,” Tony groaned. “You left him. You fucking left him. Steve –”

His chest constricted horribly, and he could hear the heart monitors next to him start to wail in alarm. Steve had locked himself in with exactly the death he must have feared the most, and Tony had led him right to it, and – fuck. He couldn’t breathe.

“Steve’s alive,” Clint said quickly. “Tony, he’s alive.” He gripped Tony’s shoulder as Tony pitched forward, clutching at his chest.

“Don’t bullshit me, Barton,” Tony yelled. He realized dimly that he was pressing one hand flat against the arc reactor, as if the device could stop the horrible knowledge taking shape in his mind from getting to his heart. “If you lie to me about this, I swear to God –”

“Tony, you have to relax, man,” Rhodey said. “If you don’t get your heart rate down, they’re going to call a code, and Steve –”

But if Rhodey finished that sentence, Tony didn’t hear it, because at that moment he heard a sound that narrowed the whole world to one agonizing hope.

“Tony!”

It was Steve’s voice, and then it was Steve. He barreled into the room, pale and bare-chested, several ECG leads still hanging off his body. His eyes searched wildly until they found Tony’s. And when they did, Tony felt himself gasp at what he could finally read in Steve’s face.

It was like getting his lungs full of oxygen after years of shallow breathing.

Tony was vaguely aware of Natasha grousing at Sam and a bedraggled looking Bucky Barnes for their failure to keep Steve in bed – and even more vaguely aware of Sam suggesting that Natasha was welcome to try getting Steve to do anything at all when there were alarms going off in Tony’s hospital room. But he could only spare about 5% of his brainpower for that. Because Steve was alive, and there was no wall between them.

Tony’s feet hit the floor almost before the final thought had formed. He made it just two steps before his knees buckled, but it didn’t matter, because Steve had started moving as soon as Tony did, and when Tony half-jumped, half-collapsed into his arms, Steve caught him. Tony wrapped his legs around Steve’s hips as Steve pressed him against his chest, and then they were kissing each other with a desperation that allowed for no other sensation.

“Seriously? Now?” Sam asked, at the same time that Rhodey let out a sarcastic, “Wow.”

“We’re all still here, you know,” Clint pointed out.

“I don’t think they care,” Bucky smirked.

“We were right in the middle of a procedure,” complained someone who Tony assumed must be new to Avengers medical care.

“All of you out of here _right now_ , or I will start removing digits,” Natasha said evenly.

That threat must have been effective at clearing the room, because Tony heard no more interruptions as Steve lowered him carefully back onto the bed. Tony twined one of his hands into Steve’s hair to hold him in place, indicating with a low growl and a squeeze to Steve’s hips that he was not, under any conditions, letting go. Steve seemed eager to take the hint. He followed Tony onto the bed, carefully holding his own weight on his elbows but continuing to kiss Tony greedily into the pillow he was arranging under Tony’s head. The movements were so gentle and hungry at once, and they made Tony ache with tenderness. He arched his hips off the bed so that he could feel the movement of Steve’s breathing against his chest. Steve responded by pressing one hand into the small of Tony’s back: holding Tony up or holding them together, Tony couldn’t tell.

“Fuck,” Tony gasped when they finally broke apart. “You bastard.”

“Yeah,” Steve smiled. “Me too.”

Tony traced his fingers along the still-unfamiliar contours of Steve’s beard and brushed a stray lock of his hair back from his face. The ends were still the tiniest bit damp, and Tony tried to suppress a shudder at the memory of ice water working its way up Steve’s body.

“God, you scare me,” he whispered.

Steve reached up and clasped Tony’s hand. He laced their fingers together and then brushed his lips gently across the places where Tony’s knuckles had cracked against the door.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” he said.

“No you aren’t, you asshole,” Tony rolled his eyes.

“Not about the door, no,” Steve admitted with a small smile. “You would have made the same call if you’d been on the other side. No, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Bucky. I’ve spent months trying to figure out how I screwed things up so badly. At first I thought I was protecting him from people who wouldn’t understand – or protecting you from having to learn something so horrible. But I was really just protecting myself. I never figured out how to make it mean less to me – what you thought about me, how you felt. I was so afraid of hurting you or losing you that I ended up doing both.”

“Hey,” Tony said softly, squeezing Steve’s hand in his, “you didn’t lose me. You can’t. That’s what I should have told you that night at Barton’s instead of walking away, but I was too jealous and scared to admit it. I’m so totally gone for you, Rogers. I have been for a long time. I can’t promise I’m not going to make terrible decisions because of it. But I won’t leave you. Not ever again.”

“Even when I tell you to,” Steve noted wryly.

“Especially not then,” Tony replied. He pulled Steve toward him and kissed him softly, letting their noses brush together until Steve let out an impatient noise and pressed deeper, pushing their clasped hands above Tony’s head and running his free hand up Tony’s back. Tony found his lips curling into a smile, and he hooked one thumb under Steve’s chin.

“Hey, soldier,” he murmured. “I would like nothing more than to be thoroughly debauched by you on every surface in this room. But there is still medical equipment attached to your body, so – and I truly cannot believe I'm saying this – seriously, someone call Sorenson, because this is Profiles-in-Courage-level material over here – but maybe we should save some of the heavier lifting until the doctors are done with you.”

“Does this mean you’re coming home?” Steve asked, his voice suddenly unsure as he searched Tony’s face. Tony scooted to one side of the bed to give Steve room to lie down, and Steve curled around him, wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist and burrowing his head against Tony’s chest.

“Like I told you, darling,” Tony said, smiling as he nestled his chin into Steve’s hair. “I’m already home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you *so much* to everyone who has shared this fic with me. It has brought me so much joy to know that you are reading it and spending time in this little world. I hope it has brought you some bright spots as well, and I would love to hear what you think.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! Kudos and comments are deeply appreciated, and each one will be treasured in the dark months to come.


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